Trouble
by aijato
Summary: "Glass was breaking and the line went dead..." Nick has a bad day. And it's getting even worse. First fanfiction. Slightly Nick/Monroe later.
1. Kein guter Tag

Hello, everyone! I'm completely new to writing fan fiction. But I wanted to try so badly. And here it is: my first fic. I would appreciate critique or suggestions.

Thanks to my great beta-reader for enduring all my mistakes. :D

In my country, only two episodes have been aired for now (too bad for me). ;( So, all my knowledge comes from other fan fics. I hope this is not too OOC. Please enjoy reading. :)

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing.

**Rating:** Rated M to be sure for blood and coarse language later.

* * *

**Kein Guter Tag**

No, this was definitely not the greatest day in Nick's life.

He had a bad start with a broken shower. Just cold water rushing down his sleepy body. It woke him up in quite an uncomfortable manner.

At work, he had a case he couldn't finish. They were stuck, and it seemed that everyone was blaming him for it. He had an argument with Hank, and Nick left the station earlier than in the past three years.

Storming out of the station, he ran directly into Monroe.

After the breakup with Juliette, Nick saw Monroe more often, and he was used to his presence and his showing up here and there.

However, he was surprised to meet the Blutbad right in front of the station.

"Hey, dude, where are you headed to?" Monroe asked, seemingly surprised as well to see the Grimm meters away from his beloved desk at this time of the day.

Nick sighed and dropped his shoulders. "There isn't any progress with the case we're still working on, and I had a little quarrel with Hank. Just had to get some fresh air now. What are you doing here, anyway?"

Suddenly, Nick sounded a little pissed. He just wanted a few moments to himself to calm down.

Monroe looked a little offended. "Well, just wanted to drop by. I was around..."

Nick huffed impatiently. He had no time for hanging around with his wolfish friend now. Even if he had enjoyed their talks in the last weeks, he had a case to be solved. And he was frustrated. And he took his frustration out on Monroe.

He cut him off mid-sentence.

"Well, sorry, Monroe. I just have no time for chatting around. Would you mind stopping with wasting my time?"

As Nick said it, he realized it was a bit too much. He saw the pang in his friend's eyes and, immediately, felt guilty. He lifted his hands in apology.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm just completely stressed out. I think I have to take some time to calm down. Sorry, Monroe."

Monroe glared at him, hurt and offended. He turned around and left in a huff.

"Monroe, please!" Nick tried, frustrated, but the wolf only shot him another pained glare and continued to walk away.

"Fine!" Nick yelled and turned away, too. He just stood in front of the station, deciding whether to feel angry or guilty. In the end, he headed out, still angry.

It seemed that all turned against him. Annoyed, he walked between the rows of parked cars and stepped on the street

Next, all happened very fast.

Blurred by his anger, Nick's short glance missed a car as he walked out onto the street. There was the sound of the brakes hitting at full and a loud thud.

Everything went silent for a moment except for the high and shrill sound in Nick's ears.

A car had hit him. That was all he remembered. Now, he was lying on the ground, his head and his left thigh hurting. Slowly, he picked himself up. He became aware of a group of people staring at him. A young woman, close to tears, was talking to him. And surprisingly, there was Hank hovering over him, looking worried. He was talking, too, but Nick couldn't understand anything. Luckily, the ringing in his ears softened.

"I am so sorry, sir. I'll call an ambulance. Are you okay? He was suddenly in front of my car. I didn't see him coming," the young woman cried, talking alternately to Nick and to the crowd staring.

"Jesus, Nick! Are you okay?" Hank's face was covered in concern.

It seemed that Nick had the luck of the devil. He felt nothing broken, and besides the dull pounding in his head, he seemed fine. He got up, accepting the helping hand from his partner.

"What are you doing here?" Nick asked in confusion.

"Just wanted to talk to you and apologize. I was out of the station when I heard the crash," Hand explained.

The young woman was sniffing silently and muttering to herself. Nick turned to her.

"It's okay. It was my fault. I'm fine. Just a little bruise on my thigh," he said. The woman stared at him in relief. Hank stared, too, in disbelief. It seemed a little wonder that Nick would survive an accident more or less without any wounds for the first time since Hank had known him.

He eyed Nick skeptically. "You are sure, Nick?" Nick nodded slowly. The crowd around them began to scatter now that everything had gone bland, leaving Nick, Hank, and the young woman alone.

Nick assured the woman once more that he was all right. He thought one short moment about going back to work, but Hank had already made the decision for him.

"I will drive you home," he announced. Nick didn't object. Slowly, they made their way over to Hank's car.

* * *

They drove in silence. Nick's head was still pounding, and he had a strange sensation somewhere between his ears and his nose. But he didn't want to bother Hank, just as little as he wanted to talk about their issue from earlier. So, he sat just in silence, leaning his head against the window.

Hank shook his shoulder gently as they arrived at Nick's place. Worriedly, the cop observed his partner. Nick was pale in the face as he stirred at his touch.

"Are you really sure everything is okay? Man, you just had an accident. You should probably be in the hospital." Hank raised his brow.

Nick shook his head gently.

"No, I'm fine. Lucky me. Sometimes even I seem to have a little luck."

Nick smiled weakly as he opened the car door. Hank nodded.

"Okay, just call me if you need anything."

Nick waved shortly goodbye as he climbed the steps to his house.

* * *

Tired, Nick just dropped his jacket on the floor, followed by his shoes and jeans. The house was silent. Nick went straight up the stairs and headed for the bedroom. He was so tired, and his head was throbbing.

He went into the small bathroom first and fumbled through the little cabinet for some painkillers. He took two pills with a little water. As he saw himself in the mirror, he was shocked. He looked horrible. He turned off the light and went to bed.

After Juliette had left, it was way too big for one person. Nick felt at little lost in the great bed. He looked at the clock on the nightstand. It wasn't even evening, but he didn't care. As he closed his eyes, he was fast asleep already.

* * *

Nick awoke with a start. He didn't know what had woken him up, but there was a strange scent in his bedroom. He sniffed. The room was dark, as was outdoors. Nick sat up against the headboard and looked at the clock.

23:34

What was this? There was this metallic scent. Nick fumbled through his pillows for the light switch. He breathed in surprise as he felt that his pillows were wet and clammy. And there was something liquid running down his lips and his neck. He licked his lips on reflex.

Blood.

Eventually, he found the light switch and turned the light on. His bed was a mess. Nick's mind got fuzzy as he saw blood over his pillows, on his mattress, and on his covers. He lifted one hand to his face and touched his nose. Immediately, his hand was covered in fresh crimson.

"Oh, shit!" he exclaimed and jumped out of his bed. The sudden movement made black dots dance in his vision. He searched the wall for a hold with one hand and gripped his phone from the nightstand with the other. Slowly, he made his way to the bathroom, leaving a red track behind.

* * *

Nick stood over the sink. Red drops were pooling in the white ceramic, and they wouldn't stop. Waves of dizziness overcame the young detective, and he breathed heavily. A slight feeling of panic tickled in the back of his mind.

Clumsy, he fumbled with his phone, finally finding the number he was searching for. He hesitated. What if he was still angry? Nick pressed the call button anyway.

He leaned his head backward, trying to soothe the bleeding while he listened to the free-line signal. On the third ring, the call was answered.

"What do you want?"

Nick could feel the anger in Monroe's voice through the phone.

"Monroe, see, I am sorry for..., " Nick started, but was interrupted by the Blutbad.

"What's wrong?" Monroe asked.

Nick was thankful that Monroe seemed to have a sixth sense for such cases. He could tell by the sound of Nick's voice that something was wrong.

"Would you mind coming over? I'm having some trouble here," Nick announced. He was leaning heavily over the sink again. He felt like his legs wouldn't support him any longer. He felt incredibly dizzy, and all the blood in the sink was making him nauseous.

There was a change from anger to concern in Monroe's tone.

"What is wrong? Nick, are you okay?"

"I don't think so," Nick admitted. "Would you come—"

The phone slipped out of Nick's hand and, with an unlovely sound, crashed on the tile floor.

Glass was breaking, and the line went dead.

* * *

**T.B.C.**

* Kein Guter Tag – No good day.


	2. Eine Noch Schlimmere Nacht

Hallo! :)

Sorry for keep you waiting so long. I'm really touched by all your nice and encouraging comments. Thank you all **_so_** much! I really, really appreciate it. I hope you will like this chapter as well. I tried to work more details into it. A big 'Dankeschön' to my great beta again. :D

**Enjoy reading. I'm looking forward to your feedback.**

* * *

**Eine Noch Schlimmere Nacht**

There was the ticking of a thousand hummed and ticked and it was awfully loud. Never in his life had these noises been so loud. They drowned out every other sound. He tried to listen to his phone, but he couldn't hear anything but the thick _tick-tock_ around the whole house. A little glimmer of red shot through his eyes.

"Nick? Nick!" It was no use. The line was dead. Monroe threw the phone on his desk in desperation. The humming and ticking grew stronger and, for the first time, he felt some kind of anger rising inside his chest against his own ticking creations. He breathed heavily and tried to focus, leaving alone the gripping sensation of panic in his stomach. He had to think and act logically. Losing temper wouldn't help anyone.

He rose from the chair, grabbed his phone, and went out in the corridor, fetching his keys and his jacket before leaving the house.

It was not the first time he made the trip in less than eight minutes. However, he was willing to bet he beat his own new record this time. During the drive, he wondered what could have happened. He imagined the most dreadful of scenarios. Some Wesen that had attacked Nick and hurt him, or even worse. A cold shiver ran down Monroe's spine at this thought, and he floored the gas pedal.

_What have you gotten yourself into this time?_ he asked himself as he brought his car to an abrupt halt a few houses away from Nick's house, right behind a great moving van. Aside from all his worries, he had to be careful. Who knew what was lingering around or in the house and maybe able to sense him in some way? There was too much evil outside to be careless.

Monroe left the car silently, rounded the moving van, and approached the house. He sniffed around carefully, but he couldn't make out any irregular presence. That _did _surprise him. As he drew closer to Nick's house, he still hadn't figured out any human or Wesen presence, disregarding the common neighbors and Eisbibers. The street was empty and laid in silence. A fresh and surprising cold wind rushed across the front yards, making the leaves on the trees rustle.

Monroe slowly walked up the lawn to the front door. Up there, he smelled it. Between the smell of freshly cut lawn and the faint sensation of rain, he sensed it. A weak smell was lingering around the house, and Monroe didn't like that scent. It was the smell of blood. And it had to be a lot of blood for the scent to be this distinct. And Monroe was very familiar with this particular smell of blood. He had smelled it too many times in the past when he had been out with Nick and something had gone wrong and the young detective had gotten himself hurt. It took him not even a second to know that this was the smell of Nick's blood.

The Blutbad went up the steps to the door in an instant and knocked impatiently. There was no answer. As expected.

"Nick?" Monroe tried. He yelled a few times, but didn't get an answer then, either.

_Okay, no other way,_ he thought, pushing aside the growing fear that was rising in his chest. He broke the glass of the window next to the door with a swift movement of his elbow, and opened the door from the inside. The door swung open at once.

Monroe didn't bother long about the broken window. He stayed still in the doorway and listened. There were no suspicious sounds. Only the ticking of a clock in the living room, the humming of the fridge in the kitchen, and the whistling of the upcoming cold wind in the branches of the surrounding trees.

"Nick?" Monroe called again. No answer this time, either. Monroe's heartbeat went a few beats faster, as he was now completely surrounded by the smell of Nick's blood. It was so intense. Way too intense to Monroe's liking. He could sense that the smell was coming from upstairs. Slowly, he approached the steps and went up. Still no evidence of Wesen or a human presence. Only the all-embracing scent of blood. Monroe had to calm the animal inside himself who was going desperate with this strong sensation. Every now and then, his eyes would switch to a ruby red and he would bear pointed teeth.

Monroe got upstairs and glanced around. The door to the bedroom stood slightly open. Guarded, he pushed the door open slowly. The room was dark, except for a little flickering of light from the nearly closed bathroom door. Monroe backed away in shock. The thick scent of Nick's blood was difficult for him to stand. He pushed forward and switched the light on, only to switch it off the next moment. The whole bed was covered in dark red patches, the pillow still moist and shimmering.

"Nick?!" Monroe saw the tracks of blood leading from the bed to the bathroom door. There were no signs of a fight, or of anyone else being there with Nick. Monroe took two long steps and opened the bathroom door.

Monroe entered the bathroom and observed the scene in horror. The detective was lying on the cold tiles, apparently unconscious; around him, a puddle of fresh blood. And there was more blood in the sink and on Nick's shirt.

"What the hell? Nick!"

Monroe jumped to Nick's side and cradled Nick's head in his lap. He found a pulse and saw the Grimm's chest rise slowly up and down. Monroe took a moment to calm down. But why all this blood? Obviously, it had to have come from Nick's nose. There were still fresh traces of blood on Nick's lips. Monroe eyed the crimson on the Grimm's lips for a moment, then he shook his head and breathed deeply through his mouth, avoiding the quite tasty smell of blood.

"Nick? Can you hear me, _please_?" Monroe shook the young man slightly. Nick stirred.

"Nick?!"

Nick's eyes suddenly shot open and looked at Monroe in confusion, pulling himself halfway up from the floor before realizing the situation. Dizziness overcame him again and he sank back.

"Whoa, _Monroe_, you scared the hell out of me," he said slowly, his hand automatically finding its way to his nose, where a new rush of blood came flooding out. Monroe eyed him with the same shocked expression.

"So did you," Monroe answered. "What the heck happened to you, man?" Monroe didn't receive an answer from Nick, who was now busy stopping the blood flow with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Oh, man, this is not good," Monroe stated. "Do you think you can sit up? We have to stop this bleeding." Nick made a confirming sound and Monroe helped him sitting up. Monroe got up, fetched a towel, and drenched it under cold running water. Then he got back to Nick and put the towel on his neck. He handed him a second one to ease the bleeding.

"Had an accident today," Nick mumbled from behind the towel with a very nasal voice. Monroe looked at him, stunned.

"When was this?" he asked, kneeling again next to the Grimm. Nick bent his head down slightly as he answered.

"After our little, erm, argument this afternoon, I ran straight into a moving car, hurting my head and leg." There was an ironic undertone, and the Grimm smirked a little behind closed eyes.

"You're kidding," said Monroe, disbelieving.

"You think?" The pain was visible on Nick's face. A cold shiver ran up Monroe's spine. Nick was honest. And he was in pain.

"Okay, just let me know if I got this right. You were _hit_ by a car in the afternoon and now you're sitting in a lake of blood home_ alone_?" Monroe lined out cynically.

"Yeah, but not alone anymore," Nick answered with an innocent glance at Monroe.

"You're crazy," Monroe shot back.

"Don't tell me that's news to you," Nick mumbled, pressing the towel harder against his nose. There were black dots in his vision again.

"Not at all," Monroe sighed. "But, look, Nick. We have to get you to a hospital. This could be something very serious. Look at all this blood." With these words, Monroe inhaled the air sharply between his teeth. "You could even have hurt your head seriously."

There was a confirming sound from Nick and some shrugging of shoulders. "It's okay, Monroe. If it was something life-threatening, I would be dead by now, agree?" Monroe looked at him with wide eyes.

"Nick! It's still not normal to leak constantly from one's nose if everything is _okay_!" Monroe was enraged. "I think, first we get you out of here." _Or me_, Monroe thought to himself, looking at all the crimson.

There was no response from the Grimm anymore. Monroe shook him by the shoulder again.

"'m fine," came the muffled reply.

"Sure you are," Monroe said bitterly, slipping gentle arms under Nick's body and lifting him up.

He carried Nick over to the bedroom and gradually eased him onto the bed, removing the messy covers around him. He threw the stuff collectively in the bathroom, closed the door, and covered the gap between door and door frame with a cloth to avoid the smell.

_Useless_, he thought. The scent of the Grimm's blood was lingering around the whole place. Luckily, he realized that the bleeding had finally stopped. Monroe propped the barely conscious detective against the head of the bed and took a seat on the side, switching on the small lamp on the nightstand.

"Nick, are you with me?" he asked, touching the side of Nick's face gently. Nick stirred and opened his eyes. Monroe let out a sigh of relief. He scanned Nick's face, getting a look of exhaustion and confusion back.

Monroe moved a bit closer. There was a slight blue shimmer developing around the Grimm's nose. Monroe raised his brow.

"Man, I think you broke your nose."

Nick still continued to look at Monroe. He heard the Blutbad talk, but it didn't make sense to him. He was on the edge of consciousness and he was so badly exhausted. The loss of blood made his head fuzzy. One moment, he was off into darkness, and the next moment, there was Monroe, hovering above him with a very concerned expression.

"...broke your nose..." That made sense somewhere in the cotton wool that once had been Nick's brain. He must have hit the ground face forward in the accident. That would explain his pounding head and now, for sure, the nasal hemorrhage. By taking painkillers, he had probably made it even worse by diluting his blood. He wanted to explain this to Monroe, who was obviously struggling with the thought of calling 911.

"It is okay, I can take care of it tomor—" Nick didn't get the chance to finish his sentence. There was a loud crash from downstairs. Monroe shot straight up, listening.

"Probably just some raccoons, as always," Nick started, trying to pick himself up, but a new wave of dizziness hit him and he sank back onto the bed.

"You'll stay here," Monroe said. "I'll just check it out." Nick nodded, giving him an uncertain look.

Monroe moved over to the door and opened it with caution. The hallway was dark and empty. He sniffed, but there was only Nick's scent. He left the room, closing the door almost silently and heading for the stairs. There it was again: a loud crash and the clear echo of footsteps coming from downstairs. A red glimmer shot through Monroe's eyes. He swiftly got to the stairs and climbed them down without a sound. He leaned around the corner.

In the dark hallway, next to the entrance, he saw it. Someone—or something—lingered in the hall. Monroe could see the shards of two broken vases on the floor in the dim light of the moon that was shining in through the open door. A tiny spark of panic was creeping into Monroe's heart. He still couldn't identify _it_ by sniffing. At this moment, _it _turned toward him. Monroe saw red glowing eyes and heard an unpleasant sound coming from the—_yeah, definitely_—Wesen.

_That's a __**big**__ raccoon, Nick_, Monroe thought as it came after him.

* * *

**T.B.C.**

* Eine Noch Schlimmere Nacht – An even worse night.

Take care, and see you hopefully at the next chapter!


	3. Schnee

Hallo, alle zusammen. _Hello everybody._

I'm so sorry for the delay. I had some big trouble in real life that kept me away from this story. But now, I'm back to business. Thank you so much for all your reviews and faves and follows! And thanks to the great beta again. :D You are all so kind! *_*

Vielen Dank! _Thank you!_

Enjoy reading, and see you hopefully at the next chapter. (And no, it will not take this long again, promise!)

* * *

**Schnee**

Cold blue, nearly white eyes looked up through the tiny basement window. A flick of black hair was brushed aside. It was dark outside. The street was illuminated by the yellowish glow of the streetlamps, and the sky rose surprisingly bright against the darkness of the oddly cold night. White clouds were forming and cuddling over the houses of the suburb.

On single tear made its way down a pale cheek. And outside, the first snowflake hit the ground in September.

* * *

Monroe raised his arms just in time as the attacker came after him, forcing his full weight against Monroe and crashing him into the wall. A hand with sharp claws missed Monroe's face just by inches. Monroe woged and glared at his invader with red eyes.

And red eyes stared back at him in the dim light of the night.

Monroe already knew what Wesen he was fighting. His enemy was clearly a Hundjäger. Through all the blood, he was now finally able to detect the scent. The Hundjäger, dressed in a dark hoodie and sloppy jeans, let out a deep growl of surprise as he saw Monroe woge.

Suddenly, the Hundjäger was in his human form and let go of Monroe, who stayed woged.

"Yo, man, sorry, I didn't know you already intended to take care of the _problem_," he said, giving a soft leer. He was a man in his mid-thirties, with thin hair and a bulldog-like face. His eyes were all black as he watched Monroe with a grin, hands thrown in the air to signal his now good intentions.

"Sorry, boy. I didn't know. So you're the reason for all the blood? But why isn't the job done already? C'mon, buddy, you seem like a strong Blutbad; what's holding you back?"

Monroe just gave a loud and unpleasant growl.

"Hey, c'mon, buddy. It's okay. He's yours."

With effort, Monroe switched back to his human form, eyes still red.

"What are you talkin' about, huh?" he said in a dangerously low voice.

"Talking 'bout the freaking Grimm upstairs. Ya can smell it all over the _damn_ city," the Hundjäger said as he pushed slightly forward. "When we moved into the neighborhood days ago, we didn't sense him. We would've thought better of picking this place. But now there's only one way to fix the situation."

Monroe processed the new information fast. _Moved in_? Hundjäger had _moved into_ the neighborhood without being noticed? Nearly impossible.

"You'll stay away from me and the Grimm if you love your life," Monroe hissed. _And move your unlucky ass out of this neighborhood before I have to help you_. The eyebrows of the invader shot up, and he eyed Monroe suspiciously.

"What are you up to, _man_? Thought you came here to get rid of the little piece of shit. Just couldn't sniff ya out in all the damn smell. 'N now I have to learn you're protectin' this piece of shit, or what? Are you crazy?" The Hundjäger's eyes turned red again.

Monroe roared, clenching his fists.

"The only piece of shit I can see is standing in front of me. Now get out of here before I have to get you a move on."

The Hundjäger looked confused and angry at the same time. "The fuck I will. What kind of Blutbad are you, protecting a freakin' _Grimm_!"

With that, he woged again and suddenly pushed forward with speed, catching Monroe by surprise. The Hundjäger rammed his head into Monroe's stomach and drove him against the wall again. Monroe let out a pained cry, but got himself into full woge before the Hundjäger could get to his head with his claws.

He pushed himself of the wall, throwing the Hundjäger to the ground.

Monroe managed to make his way to the kitchen and put some space between himself and the intruder. He was just about to turn around when a blow to his back suddenly made dark spots appear in his vision. He gasped in pain, and his knees gave way. The intruder had hit his weak spot. With another blow, the Hundjäger sent him to the ground completely. Monroe has never been weak, but this Hundjäger was incredibly strong. A slightly anxious feeling rose in Monroe's stomach, nearly creating a nagging feeling of the possibility that he might lose this fight.

"I don't mind getting rid of a futile Blutbad first," the dark creature snarled, hovering over Monroe.

Monroe shut his eyes for just a blink, trying not to focus on the intense pain in his back. In a sudden movement, he shoved himself forward on the floor and jumped to his feet again, ignoring the flames of agony his back was sending up his spine. Supporting himself on the counter, he stared again at the Hundjäger, who now exposed a row of yellow teeth.

"Funny," the Hundjäger said, fumbling behind his back with his hands in the sink, and then he threw himself on Monroe. Monroe saw the flickering of a blade and could only manage to avoid the blow in the last moment by twisting a full turn to his right. The blade sunk into the wooden counter. With a curse the intruder released the blade from the wood and went after Monroe again.

Monroe tried to put some well-placed blows with his own claws, but all his strikes missed; the Hundjäger just moved too fast. Monroe let out an angry howl and struck again, this time catching the Hundjäger's shoulder. But the blade hissed through the air once more, so fast Monroe only realized it had hit when he felt the hot pain on his upper arm. He had taken a deep cut that ran from his shoulder down to his elbow. He groaned in distress. In the moment of distraction, the Hundjäger didn't hesitate throwing another heavy blow at Monroe's head.

Monroe unexpectedly saw how everything seemed to move in slow motion. He felt how a knee was driven deep into his gut, followed immediately by a blow that hit him hard in his already sore back. His knees buckled, and it seemed like the kitchen turned upside down in his vision.

Monroe closed his eyes tightly. Unintentionally, he woged back to his human form, desperation wailing up inside of him. He had to get up again and fight. He had to protect Nick. The Grimm was surely too weak to fight this devil now. There came a kick to his left side and Monroe saw nothing more but a fog of dancing colors, all blurred in a pure sensation of immense pain. In the corner of his eye, he made out the blade slashing forward for the deathly strike.

_Bang!_

* * *

Nick sat on the bed in the darkness, trying to concentrate on listening what was going on downstairs.

His head was throbbing like hell and his mouth tasted like the blood still tickling down his throat from his nose. He shuddered. Suddenly, he felt cold and, if possible, the pain behind his nose increased further.

_Surely inflamed by now_, Nick thought slowly, regretting that he hadn't taken care of his health in the first place—_again_. A thin layer of sweat spread across his forehead. He inhaled deeply, trying to soothe the pain.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash from downstairs and the sensation of the walls shaking slightly.

_What the hell? Monroe!_ Nick's eyes flew open, and as fast as he could, he swung his legs out of the bed. He stood up abruptly, regretting it in an instant.

Vertigo hit him hard, and he managed to balance his weight backward in the last moment, so that he fell down on the bed.

"Uh," was all he succeeded to say, bringing a hand up to his head.

Dammit!

He forced himself up again, this time slow enough that his brain could cope with the movement. He looked over to the nightstand, searching for his gun, which he usually placed there. But memories hit him fast. He had left the gun downstairs with his jeans as he came home. Only now realizing that, in fact, he was just dressed in his boxers and a bloody shirt.

_Dammit!_

_Not the best condition to fight._ Nick's gaze flew over and was glued to a pair of jogging trousers and a sweatshirt. He dragged himself over, quickly putting on the clothes. Moving as fast as he could to the door, he remained there, listening, trying to suppress the ringing in his ears.

He heard angry voices from downstairs. And a deep groan. Monroe had woged! This did not bode well. Nick pushed the door open, fighting down the upcoming nausea. The taste of blood made him sick to his stomach.

Swiftly, he left the bedroom and walked silently down the hall to the staircase. The voices grew louder.

_"The fuck I will. What kind of Blutbad are you, protecting a freakin' Grimm!"_

Nick's eyes flashed open wide. An intruder, obviously come to take him down. And now Monroe was down there, fighting the fight Nick was supposed to handle.

There was a loud thud, and Nick heard Monroe crying out in pain. Nick cursed and begun to climb down the stairs. He had to get to his gun first. There was no chance he could stand a fight unarmed in his state.

As if to prove his poor condition, vertigo hit him once again, and he swayed on the steps. Within a few breaths, he was able to catch his balance.

Monroe cried out again, and Nick winced at the desperation in his friend's voice. Sweat dripped down from his forehead as he made the last steps down to the hall. He found support at the wall and stared down the corridor.

Just this moment, he watched in horror as the big intruder—a Hundjäger, he recognized—hit Monroe with the sharp blade of a kitchen knife, slicing up Monroe's left upper arm. A blow struck Monroe hard on the head afterward, and the enemy sent the Blutbad down to the ground.

Nick turned around in panic, ignoring the incredible pounding in his head, picking up his gun from its holster from his jeans on the floor. He didn't hesitate and took a shot just in the moment the knife went down.

_Bang!_

* * *

A loud thud came from next to Monroe, and then there was nothing but silence.

Monroe's eyes fluttered open, and he carefully turned his head to his left. There lay the Hundjäger, motionless. A solid pool of blood was forming under his head. Monroe struggled up, hoisting his upper body with his arms. He ignored the pain in his back and arm and looked over to the hall.

Nick was slumped against the wall, letting the gun hang loose in his hand. He looked pale, and sweat covered his face, but he smiled over to Monroe.

"Hey, M'roe, got the damn raccoon," he said before fainting. Monroe was unable to break Nick's fall from his position.

With horror, Monroe watched as Nick's limp body collided hard with the ground.

"_Nick_!"

* * *

Rosalee woke with a start. She didn't know what had woken her, but she stirred and managed to get herself in a sitting position. She looked around, recognizing where she was. Obviously, she had fallen asleep on the couch in the back of the spice shop. She sighed as she looked at the clock at the wall. It was long past midnight.

She brushed her fingers through her hair and stood up. The shop lay in silence. There was no sound; no car could be heard from outside. There was nothing to hear except the comforting ticking of the clock. Rosalee hushed over in the room, turning down the few lights. She had spent far too much time in this shop lately. Time to go home.

She grabbed her bag and entered the salesroom, turning the lights on the counter off, too. She approached the door and reversed the open sign at the window to close, lost in thoughts.

She opened the door and took a step forward as it hit her—cold as ice, literally. She was greeted by a thick wall of snow. And wall was the very right word. The snow lay nearly as high as three quarters of the door's high. Through the gap between snow and door, she could see the sky, covered in white clouds, sticking out against the darkness of the night.

"What on _Earth_...?"

Quickly, she closed the door before the snow could become loose and crumple into her shop. She stood behind the window in astonishment. It was the end of September. And even in the deepest winter, there was never so much snow in Portland. And only four hours before, there had been no snow. Rosalee got a feeling of misgiving rising inside her. In other words, this spelled trouble, and she had an idea who could be concerned with this trouble.

She rummaged in her bag and grabbed her phone. She search for a specific number and pushed the call button, not considering the time. She promptly got an answer.

"_The person you are calling is temporarily unavailable..._"

* * *

Monroe sighed as the Grimm finally moved his head. He had managed his way over to Nick, a dish towel sloppily wrapped around his left arm. His back was on fire, but all he cared about was seeing if Nick was okay. He was crouched down next to the Grimm.

"Nick?" Despite the situation, Nick managed a smile at the relief in Monroe's voice. He was unbelievably glad the clockmaker was by his side. This was one of the cruelest days and even cruelest nights since he had become a Grimm. _Why always me?_ He groaned.

"Nick, you with me?"

Nick shuddered. He was hot and cold at the same time. It seemed that the inflammation had become worse, leaving him weak and with the feeling of lacking sleep for at least one week. He struggled himself in a half-sitting position, glancing over at Monroe, holding his gaze. Deep lines of worry etched the Blutbad's brown eyes. He gently touched Nick's shoulder.

"You better lie back down," Monroe whispered.

"What if there are more?" Nick, instead of lying down, got slowly to his feet. Monroe steadied him as he began to sway on his feet.

"I don't know what's happening here," Monroe said. "I just know that it's bad."

"It obviously is," came the muffled reply from Nick. "They must smell my blood all over the town and think I'm easy prey now."

Monroe shook his head slowly, leading Nick over to the steps. At least there was no fresh blood to be seen on Nick's bruised and battered nose, but the Grimm felt unusually warm under Monroe's touch. Monroe frowned.

"True story. But I think there is more behind this. The Hundjäger mentioned something about moving into the neighborhood. Think some bad business is going on." Monroe had considered about not telling Nick this fact. He was sure that now the police instincts in Nick would kick in. But there was no way of hiding that maybe some really big trouble was going on just under Nick's _broken_ nose.

Nick looked at Monroe with narrowed eyes. Monroe backtracked in an instant.

"Look, but there is _nothing _we have to take care of tonight except _you_," he said seriously, trying to end the upcoming discussion before it had a chance to begin. Nick huffed.

"You don't look any better," Nick muttered.

"That's just another reason to drop it for today. You will now call Hank, he should take care of this," Monroe waved toward the kitchen. "And I will drive you to hospital."

Nick shook his head. "No hospitals," he said in a low voice. "Can I spend the night at yours?"

Monroe sighed. Stubborn Grimm. Even with his head under his arm, he would try to avoid proper medical care for whatever reason. But he was okay with everything if they just could leave this place for now. He was not up for another tête-à-tête with a Hundjäger.

"See, I will drive my car up to your house; I parked a few houses away. You will call Hank in the meanwhile."

Nick nodded lamely. He was too tired to argue, and he was glad Monroe had taken the initiative. The Blutbad approached the front door, sore. He pulled on the handle, and the door flung open.

"_Holy shit_!"

* * *

**T.B.C.**

*Schnee – snow.


End file.
